Undercover Tenderness
by sadistw
Summary: A sudden snowstorm prevents England from returning home. America doesn't mind being trapped in the house with him. USUK.


It was snowing outside, it had been for a few days now. Alfred couldn't tell how much snow buried his front steps and began to consume his car, he was terrible with estimating amounts and didn't bother to watch the news- it was either boring or depressing. What Alfred did know was that there was enough snow to stop any planes from taking off, leaving one very grumpy Englishman at the mercy of his hospitality. Or at least he was grumpy when he couldn't leave yesterday, he seemed to have calmed down since then and was even speaking to Alfred without growling. It sort of hurt, just a little bit, that England was so eager to get away from him, America understood the importance of maintaining a country but England was doing just great as far as America could see, surely he could afford a short break.

"Are you sulking again America? I already told you I'd stay, not that I have much of a choice."

"I wasn't sulking." America turned his head and proceeded to not pout and not sulk as he leaned onto his hand, elbow digging into the armrest of his couch. Arthur really didn't have to add that last bit. It made Alfred feel like a troll keeping a maiden held against her will. He figured if he tried, made some calls and twisted some arms, he could get Arthur home but then he would be alone. Alfred sighed using his left hand to pull the blanket a little off England and more onto his own legs. Right now he was glade to have Arthur near him but he'd feel a lot better if he didn't feel like he kidnapped the Briton.

Arthur looked up from his word search at the tug of the quilt to see America with his head tilted at a funny angle over the back of the couch. Arthur's eyes followed where he assumed his gaze was directed to the small window by the door. From his spot nearly in the middle of the room he could see the snow on the ground, which spoke enough of it's height, and the soft flurries of snow dancing their way to the ground.

"It's lovely isn't it?" America's head snapped up at the sound of his voice, his eyes painted with confusion silently asking 'what is?'. England shook his head, he should have know America wasn't one for admiring the scenery. "The snow, there's just something... romantic about it, don't you agree?"

America allowed his head to fall back over the couch to study the cold water falling from the sky when he sat up he had his 'silly ol' England' smile on, "Like what?"

England fingers the quilt as he thinks of how to explain. He ponders it for a moment, studying where his and America's feet almost touch beneath the quilt.

"Things like cozying under a blanket with your sweetheart," Alfred very nicely doesn't laugh at his word choice. "or drinking a warm cup of tea while cuddling with the one you love by the fire place." Arthur stiffens and when he looks up at America his face is adorably red and his eyes are wide open, "Of course I wasn't implying I want to do these thing with _you_. I was just saying that I think, well, most people think things like that are romantic. D-don't get the wrong idea!"

Alfred smiled, if Iggy got any redder he'd overheat. "Everything reminds you of tea," he teased.

Arthur looked affronted but America dashed to the kitchen before he could respond, calling back in a slightly teasing tone "I don't have any tea, but I'll make some hot chocolate for us, okay, Sweetheart?"

In the kitchen Alfred ignored the sound of a pillow hitting the door frame. He pulled the milk out the fridge and poured about half a gallon into a pot, setting the electric stove as high as he could so the milk would heat quickly. While he rummaged through his cabinets for chocolate bars, 'cause hot chocolate tasted so much better with actual chocolate in it, he considered England's opinion of snow. America sort of understood what Arthur was tying to say, a white Christmas sounded romantic and all but honestly he hated snow. Snow reminded Alfred of sickness and despair, it reminded him of frostbite, amputated limbs, getting lost in a world of white because everything familiar was buried under slush and ice. Snow made Alfred think of all the people without homes who were stuck in the freezing cold; Men, women and children who would all likely be dead before seeing another winter.

Winter as a whole was akin to death in America's mind and snow was the embodiment of this death, the tool used to carry it out.

He mentally shook the thoughts from his mind breaking off pieces of chocolate and dropping them into the milk which had started to bubble. While the chunks melted America spooned in large amounts of coco powder. He wished he had marshmallows. Technically he did have some but they were in his coat pocket and have been for a few weeks, he was just fine with eating them but didn't feel England would appreciate them very much and it wouldn't be fair to have marshmallows in his cup while Iggy had none. America rapidly stirred everything together with his spoon, pretending not to notice that the liquid splashed all over the stove and counters. He could already imagine Arthur yelling 'what the bloody hell have you done to the kitchen!' while wiping everything down. America set the spoon on the counter before darting to the cabinet and pulling out two mugs, one with a brown bear drinking coffee on it and the other sporting the American flag. Both way larger than any mug ought to be. As he filled them with the warm liquid, almost evenly but not quite since he was bigger than England and obviously needed more, his eyes were draw to the large window across the room. Snow was piled against it so that if you opened it the snow would spill into the room. That white crap had a lot of nerve, trapping then in the house then trying to break in. Alfred turned to leave, remembering to turn the stove of just before he stepped out of the room.

America, stepping over the thrown cushion, walks slowly into the room so as not to spill his cup, England's is in no danger of spilling over. When he looks away from the mug he sees England, not working on his puzzle book, but staring wistfully into the dormant fireplace. He hadn't noticed America enter so America takes this opportunity to stare at his beautiful companion. He wasn't afraid to admit that England is hot, not just hot- _sexy,_ drop dead sexy. Alfred realized a long time ago he was attracted to his former guardian so he was long past the freak out faze, now he could bask in the warm feelings produced when they were together and not feel horrified when his imaginings turned R rated. He would tell England about his feelings... eventually.

Alfred placed their mugs on the coffee table in front of the couch, Arthur didn't notice. America did the only thing proper in this situation- he kissed England on the forehead. As predicted the shocked blond promptly turned red and sputtered half curses with no real direction. England seemed to be considering how to respond, he settled with furrowing his brows and frowning indignantly.

"You certainly took your time," he glanced at America's empty hands, "Where's the hot chocolate?" America fanned his hands out to gesture towards the table with a smug smile in place. He walked over to the fire place knowing that Arthur wouldn't ask for it to be lit. it'd been a minute since he'd used it but he was fairly certain he could light it up. When the fire started he headed back to he spot on the couch, watching Arthur out of the corner of his eye as he went. He saw the small content smile on England's face as he gazed at the flames and sipped from the flag cup and as America crawls under the blanket with England he thinks he might just see, if only a little, how snow could be romantic. So long as it stays outside.


End file.
